We move a lot. People always tell me what an adventurer I am, and how I must be used to it, and how much better I handle it than they would. Those kind of comments always throw me. Not that I mind the comments, I am rather used to those. Truthfully, I'm not really an adventurer (my big dream is to veg on the couch for one whole evening all by myself while chowing on some salted caramel gelato). Nor am I used to moving; each time is usually quite a shock and rather uncomfortable. And as to how I handle it? Well, there is much to be made of God's grace in that; but for my part, it seems to be all God and none of me.
In the first week there is typically one terribly big cry (I'm talking muddy face and puddles and some unintelligible gibberish about no friends and no desire to unpack boxes). And then, once we dig in our heels, the slow path to putting up house can begin.
It was no different with this move. The starting over each time, mixed with blank walls and having no idea where the grocery store is: I go a tinsy bit crazy. So, this time, in my mister's attempt to keep the family sane, I have been prohibited, absolutely sworn from jumping in too fast, tearing up every room or painting everything in sight. Every room, save one.
I could only choose one room. That was his rule. It wasn't too difficult which room to pick. The schoolroom had been transplanted from a very private extra bedroom in our last home to a rather visible formal dining room here. Every time I was in the kitchen I spied mounds of schoolish stuff stacked high on every wall. Those mounds were beginning to give me the stink eye. So, the choice was made. Honestly, I do like to always have a little project in the works (I say little, not a house full, mind you). So, this one room limitation was actually rather freeing. One room—breath girl—one room.
You may recall when we bought our last home all the walls were beige. Not those pretty greige colors that I've seen popping up everywhere, just the fleshy pinky hues of my forearm all around me. Our last apartment in Louisiana was the same. I have come to really loath this color. But, with eyes of gratitude, I am thankful all the more for a home that, at the very least, is not a kaleidoscope, just a clean beige slate.
The mister, in an effort to bring up my spirits at the start of this project, jumped in and built us a new school table. I adore it so much. Really adore it. And the fact that he designed and built it to suit the girls lifted my sagging spirits and pushed me to do my part (the chalkboard) in putting this room aright. I must say, teamwork does wonders to cheer up any disposition.
Here is the room with the new table and chalkboard, but before paint. Gone are the days when I would look at one room and try to imagine it on its own, isolated from the other spaces. After many homes I have learned to set down a whole house scheme so everything flows. Is anyone else that way? So all the colors needed to be chosen before I could pick the colors for this space.
And the afterwards. The upper walls, while they look white, are actually a very pale gray. The lower half is a pale minty color. There was a moment when I thought the mint was going to be a little marmish, but I'm ecstatic with the end result. I primed that chair and plan on painting it a pale yellow (I think).
Here is the back wall with still much to do. The mister wants to build a wall full of cubbies with baskets for storage over the next couple of weeks. Something like this:
So far, teaching in this room has been thoroughly enjoyable. Homeschooling all around has been much more fun this year. Not to say that you have to have a pretty room to enjoy teaching, but I'm not gonna lie, it sure helps! We still have much to do here (curtains, shelving, etc), but for the moment, I am thrilled with the cheeriness of it all. Little bits—folks—little bits. There's no rush.